


Relaxation

by notmyrevolution



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:10:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyrevolution/pseuds/notmyrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was awoken by the sound of the shower starting, and a warm but empty place in the bed next to him and—</p>
<p>Jesus, was that supposed to be singing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relaxation

He was awoken by the sound of the shower starting, and a warm but empty place in the bed next to him and—

Jesus, was that supposed to be singing?

Enjolras forced himself from bed, not bothering to get dressed as he followed the trail of clothes on the floor that lead to the bathroom. He’d get annoyed about those later, no doubt, but right now he just wanted to make that  _noise_  stop. Enjolras was typically not a morning person. He preferred to socialise after a shower and a coffee, but before that, his idea of sociability was eye contact and a glare. He’d been up later than necessary the night before, the urge to find one more journal article and one more resource fuelling him to stay awake far longer than he should’ve.

Enjolras made himself climb out of bed and ran his fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame the errant curls, instead padding his way towards the bathroom. He didn’t think to bother with clothes for the short trip, having slept naked, and knowing full well who the terrible voice belonged too.

Enjolras could see him through the frosted glass of the shower stall. He could make out his pale skin, the dark smudge that was his hair. Enjolras watched him for a moment, following the movements of the person as they showered and smiled sleepily to himself.

“Your singing is atrocious,” Enjolras said, voice still thick and rough from sleep, staying in the doorway and watching the shower. He never knew if something he said was going to be taken seriously or was going to slide off like it were water. He stayed near the door for that reason, so if it were the former, it would be easier to turn around and make his way back to bed.

A head stuck out of the shower stall, and there were sudsy, damp curls stuck to the side of Grantaire’s face. There was a wide grin on his face. The latter, then.

“So why did you come here where the singing is?” he asked.

“I thought someone might have been murdering a cat. I wanted to check,” Enjolras said impassively, though the corners of his mouth quirked, just slightly.

“I’ll excuse your rudeness, because I have no doubt you’ll support me when I am centre stage at the Opéra Garnier,” Grantaire said, with feigned disappointment. He ducked back under the spray, rinsing something from his hair. Enjolras stepped forward, closing the bathroom door from habit.

“That day will be the ruin of opera,” he remarked, features twisting at the idea.

“I am the opera!” Grantaire’s voice said, half muffled from being under the water.

Enjolras stood in the middle of the room. Not awkwardly, just waiting.

“For fuck’s sake, aren’t we past the point where you need an invitation?” Grantaire’s voice sounded again, a warm frustration over the sound of the water.

Enjolras smiled. Grantaire was everything and everywhere all at once. He was loud and never shut up, he was the chaotic mess that invaded Enjolras’s organized space, he demanded attention. However, for the things he wanted, really wanted, he never asked. Not outright. He would subtly hint and make obvious statements, but it was never “can you please…?”.

Enjolras humoured him, sometimes. Sometimes he remained passive and acted oblivious until the question forced itself from Grantaire’s lips with frustration and a fear of rejection.

“An invitation to what? The opera?”

“Just get in the fucking shower with me, will you?”

Enjolras was a focused person. If something needed doing, he would do it, and between him and Combeferre, nothing would be missed. Grantaire was a distraction. Everything about him made him someone Enjolras should naturally avoid.

It was for this very reason that Enjolras stepped into the shower without further hesitation. Because Grantaire would never say it and Enjolras would never admit it, but sometimes that distraction was exactly what he needed. Focus was only good if it didn’t consume you and Grantaire didn’t always know what Enjolras needed, but when he did, he gave it his all.

Grantaire never did anything by halves.

Sometimes the distraction was an outlet for his anger, a viable target that stood in front of him and argued every single point he had until he was shaking from anger and unwinding all his emotions in catharsis. Sometimes this distraction was explosive. The others still didn’t talk about the time Grantaire and Enjolras argued in the middle of the cafe about the validity of 1984 as decent literature until they almost had to be physically separated.

Sometimes the distraction was a hand, warm from water, that tugged him into the shower and into a lazy, open-mouthed kiss underneath the spray.

Enjolras stepped back first, keeping his hand curled against the back of Grantaire’s neck, but holding him at arm’s length.

When dressed, Grantaire was scruffy and only half put together. His clothes were never ironed, his boots were scuffed, his jeans stained with paint and his hair never brushed. He had a constant air about him that seemed like he’d just rolled out of bed and thrown on whatever happened to be closest on the floor. Most of the time, this was the actuality.

Nude, Grantaire was resplendent. What hid under the lack of effort was pale skin, darkened in several places by inked words and art that he held close. What was usually a slouched posture and a nervous half-step became lithe movements and a deliberate cock of the hip. There were fine planes of muscle, a dusting of hair and Grantaire, for all his self-depreciation in every aspect of his life, looked so surprisingly comfortable in his own skin that Enjolras had a hard time not encouraging him to be constantly naked.

This is how he was now. Grantaire reached up and caught Enjolras’s wrist, tugging him forward and manhandling him to turn around until they were chest-to-back.

“It’s rude to stare,” Grantaire said with a smug tone. His fingers curled lazily over the sharp jut of Enjolras’s hip, and his nose settled against the back of Enjolras’s neck, where the hairline met skin.

“This isn’t really a productive shower,” Enjolras mumbled, leaning back into the embrace. He felt the exhalation of breath on his skin that accompanied Grantaire’s laugh. Enjolras reached for his shampoo, only to have Grantaire slap at his hand and reach for it himself.

“I can wash myself,” Enjolras complained.

“You really don’t get the point of romantic showers, do you?” Grantaire said, laughing as he squeezed out what was absolutely too much shampoo into his hands.

“Sex?” Enjolras asked, though he still tipped his head back when Grantaire gave a tug on his hair. “For you at least.”

“You wound me,” Grantaire feigned hurt, as he started to card his fingers through Enjolras’s wet curls. “It doesn’t always have to be sex. Not that I’d say no if you offer, but I assure you, my affections are honourable.”

Enjolras went to laugh, but the sound came out as a breathless huff when he felt Grantaire’s fingers slowly, and probably unnecessarily, massage into his scalp. Enjolras fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes slipping to half-closed. The muscles in his neck relaxed, and his head lulled gently with the movement of Grantaire’s hands slowly lathering the shampoo.

“Wow, no one would believe me if I told them Apollo, our fearless leader, was basically like a cat getting scratched,” Grantaire murmured. Enjolras made a noise in protest, but didn’t speak. He felt too relaxed to try and argue.

“Don’t you fall asleep on me in here,” Grantaire warned, amusement evident in his tone. He gently directed Enjolras to tip his head forward under the spray, letting the shampoo rinse out thoroughly. There were light kisses pressed against the back of his neck, before a fiercer, open-mouthed one against his shoulder, and Grantaire exhaled sharply then muttered, “How can anyone question why I hang around and why I’m fucking devoted to you, when I get to see you like  _this?”_

“You’re beautiful. I love you,” he continued, and both his arms wrapped around Enjolras’s waist, bringing their bodies flush together. Enjolras made a contented sound, and Grantaire continued his words of appreciation against Enjolras’s skin.

Enjolras forced himself to move, turning until they were facing each other, and he tapped a finger against Grantaire’s chin to force him to look up. Grantaire did, a lazy smirk on his face. They didn’t speak. Instead, Enjolras tugged Grantaire forward into another kiss, lips fitting together, damp with water. It was slow and relaxed, Grantaire’s hands ghosted along Enjolras’s sides, and Enjolras wove his fingers firmly into Grantaire’s hair and held fast.

It was Grantaire who pulled away first this time, the smirk still on his face, and he reached past Enjolras for something.

“C’mon, conditioner, or we’re gonna be in here all day, and I have shit to do,” Grantaire teased. Both of them knew full well that there was nothing that would actually stop him spending all day in the shower with Enjolras, if given the chance.

“I feel like you’re taking gratuitous liberties with my hair,” Enjolras said, watching as Grantaire poured an equally inappropriate amount of conditioner into his palm.

“Can you blame me? We’re often drawn to what we’re lacking,” Grantaire shrugged

The conditioner was applied in the same comfortable silence. Enjolras stood relaxed as Grantaire lathered, massaged and rinsed, directing Enjolras’s head as he saw fit beneath the water.

“You’re supposed to say it back,” Grantaire said in a low voice when he was done, tugging on one of Enjolras’s wayward curls. Enjolras quirked an eyebrow and fought back his smile. He stayed quiet for a few moments.

“I’m fond of you,” Enjolras explained, leaning forward and resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. He still felt loose-limbed from sleep and the relaxation Grantaire had brought on.

Grantaire breathed out slowly, but the noise he made wasn’t an unplesant one. This was a discussion they’d had several times over, the first loud and angry, the last calm and loving. Enjolras was honest and certain, above all else, and Grantaire was impatient, but if his choices were between pressuring Enjolras and waiting, then he would wait until the end of time.

Because Enjolras  _was_  fond of him. He was immensely fond of Grantaire, who shared his bed and his space, and made them feel like somewhere he wanted to be.

Grantaire repaid that with a tender kiss, and a light, reassuring touch to his cheek.

“I’m fond of you, too,” Grantaire said with an open, soft smile.

They stood together like that and shared a slow, heated kiss that didn’t go futher than Grantaire pulling Enjolas’s lower lip into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth. They only broke apart when the water started to run from hot to lukewarm, then cold.

“Shall we?” Grantaire asked, a comfortable adoration on his face, that he only ever wore when he got to see Enjolras like this. Enjolras stared at him, the relaxed look in his eyes caused by something other than sleep, now.

Grantaire smirked, and reached around Enjolras to shut the water off at last.

They stepped out, Enjolras reaching for the towels and Grantaire holding out his hand for one in an unspoken demand. This was habit, a routine where they fit around each other without overlapping. Enjolras was methodical, scrubbing the towel through his hair to dry it, while Grantaire just draped the towel over his head, rubbed it once or twice and hoped for the best. It was only once Enjolras moved to dry the rest of himself that he noticed Grantaire’s glare.

The towel fell from his head to settle around his shoulders, but Grantaire didn’t notice, too busy watching Enjolras with an angry look.

“What?” Enjolras asked, holding his towel absently and staring back. They were doing so well and—

“How does your hair just naturally look like that, while I resemble a poodle and can’t make it do anything without product?” Grantaire said, directing his glare to Enjolras’s hair. Enjolras remained silent. Grantaire didn’t.

“What if I shave all of it off?” he said, turning to face the mirror and running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the curls in annoyance.

“That seems a bit dramatic,” Enjolras pointed out. Grantaire met his eyes in the mirror.

“Have you met me?” Grantaire asked, eyebrows raised. “When am I ever fucking subtle? I’m subtle like Bahorel is a gentle kitten.”

“Do you want to shave your hair off?” Enjolras asked, tilting his head as he tried to keep up with Grantaire’s thought process.

“No,” Grantaire said in frustration. “You’re supposed to say ‘No, my love, don’t cut your precious hair!’ and convince me otherwise. Wow, you’re fucking useless at this.”

Enjolras frowned for a second, until Grantaire smiled, a teasing half-quirk of his lips as he turned to face Enjolras.

“I don’t talk like that,” Enjolras said, before stepping forward and sighing, his hand reaching up to brush aside some of Grantaire’s hair. “If you want to shave your hair off, do it. If you don’t, then don’t. My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“You’re an idiot,” Grantaire said, dropping his head against Enjolras’s bare shoulder. “Do you have any idea what compliment fishing is?”

“Of course I do,” Enjolras huffed, smiling slightly. “But between you and Courfeyrac, I’ve elected to ignore it.”

They fell into silence, but Enjolras absently ran his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, conscious that Grantaire might take him too seriously. Grantaire responded with a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“My balls are gonna freeze off if we don’t move,” Grantaire said, ending the moment.

“We could go back to bed and warm up?” Enjolras suggested, giving a tug on the hair still in his hand.

“Don’t you have class this morning?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras’s face contorted in a way that made Grantaire bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. Enjolras looks confused at first, like he couldn’t remember what day it was, then his eyes widened in horrified realization. Finally, with one finger pointed at Grantaire and a glare directed on his face, he said, “I’m really angry with you right now.”

Grantaire lost the battle with his laughter.


End file.
